Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Chalupa, artist - Cam'Ron. Album song Crime Pays, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 11.05.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Killa Entertainment
Song language: English
Chalupa |
Yo this flow here is bulimics, anemic, yo red beam it |
Plus I got it on, you ain’t never seen it, never seen it |
Some people say I’m conceited, but dougie I never cheated |
Oh boy you’ll get deleted, believe it, I could achieve it cuz look |
Im on a Yamaha, laughing like ha ha ha |
Na na na, want to talk, shots speak ra ra ra |
Crib is like mardigra, no beads grow weed |
Court case, courtside, nigga in the nose bleeds |
OG, Goatee, proceed, whole Ki’s |
Sorta like a janitor, stay within a parameter |
Niggas got the hammer bra, don’t care about a camera |
Could they put that dress off, first like grand ma ma |
Hope you got the stamina, because niggas be on worst |
Blow reefa, no sneaker, thought this was a converse |
I told baby girl damn that’s a hard purse |
But you gotta get it in flavors girl like starburst |
We counting money, yo doggie we couting money |
Yo shit ain’t even funny, but look at we counting money |
Yo stupid up on the stoope, the game is in a stoope |
Cuz look we get chalupa, cha cha cha cha cha cha chalupa love |
Winter time, I’m heated why they frigid |
Lenox ave boy working with 8 digits |
Summer time came through in our may blizzaards |
Old ladies looking like damn they did it |
Cuz huh, I got to forty fifth just to get a snack box |
2 piece, apple pie, feds taking snap shots |
They know I’m known for hot rims, fast drops |
Big trucks, big jewels, whys from the have nots |
Now every pocket on my clothing dawg, have knots |
10, 20, 30, 40, 50 thousand; |
jack pot |
Call my block gravel, (why) its mad rocks |
Im the owner of the team, fuck the mascot |
Sucking mad cock, 650 rag top |
Damn, don’t get hit with the jab that my dad got |
Yall sasquatch, put it on your laptop |
Yo not a door, but yessir its pad locked |
We do the interstate, baby where the state patrol |
With 50lbs, and I ain’t talking bout an eight year old |
It can take a toll, hoping you can get parole |
Play your role, the heat is so hot it can make you cold |
And they say ima son of a bitch |
Why, cuz I be with your son and your bitch |
You don’t deserve her, your fair we won’t hurt her |
We taught her to be a squirter, your sons about murder |
Your brother well he my worker, your sister well she my slurper |
Your mom her ass is fat, my niggas they call her bertha |
Once a week they might server her, with dick they gon serve her |
Now she whining like a baby, well maybe we’ll get her gerber |
Smack her on her ass, warm milk, then we burp her |
Yeah we left her nurtured, but well earth her, before we chirp her |
You’ll be a punching bag, fam well put our beats on her |
Or the Klu klux, white sheet on her |
Or Miami jersey put the heat on her |
Or a door mate I’m gone put my feet on her |
Creep on em, leap on em |
Yeah park the jeep on em |
Americas most wanted, with no warrant! |